Sunlight
by citigirl13
Summary: Damon always thought that Elena was the girl for him. He was wrong. He had been lost in fog for so long, he had forgotten how to recognise the sunlight. Damon/Rebekah. Post-season 3.


**If Damon and Elena don't end up together, I want Rebekah and Damon! I love Rebekah as a character – I think she's so powerful yet vulnerable. In a way she and Damon would work very well together.**

**I hope you enjoy! **

**DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Vampire Diaries or any of the characters**

**xXx**

**Sunlight**

In the end, she picks Stefan. Just like that.

Sadly Damon could have predicted that; he could have written the script and sold it to some television channel; hell, it possibly could have been made into a movie or even a novel. Unfortunately it doesn't mean that it hurts any less. Despite her rebuffing him again and again, his heart still seems to hope – and then Elena proceeds to crush it all over again. He's like a fly trying to gather up a crumb and being batted away every time.

He can't stay in Mystic Falls. He can't watch Elena and Stefan become the town's own Romeo and Juliet, except when Romeo and Juliet died – well, they actually _died_. He can't watch everyone move on with their lives now that the Originals have left. He gets the feeling that everyone else is kinda waiting for _him _to move on too.

That hurts a little.

So he packs the few possessions he actually cares about and heads to the airport. He doesn't say goodbye. Well, he says it to Stefan sort of, without really saying it. And he makes a stop at where Alaric died too. He thinks Alaric maybe the only person who would miss him. God knows Damon already misses him.

He doesn't glance back, not even when the plane lifts up and all he has to do is glance down. Maybe he'll miss it. Maybe he won't. But right now all he feels is relief when he lands down in the next airport, preparing to connect to his next flight. It doesn't matter that he's left the love of his life there. It doesn't matter that he's left the only place that he considers home.

At least he's not watching her love his brother.

**xXx**

He arrives in Rome first. Even though it's been a few years since Damon's been there, he remembers it like the back of his hand: the worn streets of a time long gone, the different types of music that drift from one place to the next as if the city has speakers hidden, the restaurants filled with the most amazing food. It's not so much the sights as the feeling you get: when he sits by the Trevi fountain he watches the people walk down the streets, laughing and talking. Maybe it's the lights or the guitar music in the background, but he feels a wave of peace wash over him – one that he hasn't felt, it has to be said, since he arrived in Mystic Falls.

He stays in one of his favourite hotels – the suite, of course. He spends the day sleeping and ordering room service, including expensive champagne. As soon as the night arrives he leaves for the clubs. Clubs in Italy are different than they are in America – they're more like rowdy bars. He goes to the ones in the worst parts of town and surrounds himself with prostitutes and poor girls who are almost prostitutes. It's fun: the girls swarm him and he drinks so much alcohol the room sways to the music. He wakes up in one of the bedrooms above the bar with three of the girls. After a quick blood drive he goes back the hotel to have a large bath – the bed looked as if it had bugs crawling in it.

He does this for the next few days. But every now and then he gets this feeling that someone is watching him. He ignores this for a while, until one night he bails on the party early. A few girls tail him but he manages to lose them.

_Well almost all of them. _

In an ally he pauses. "What do I have to do," he calls, "throw a stick and make you leave?"

There's a beat of silence. Then a voice rises like steam, smooth and elegant like an expensive bottle of champagne. "Is that the best you can do?"

He turns round and now they're facing each other. There's about five metres distance between them, and neither of them try to close it. She looks very demure, with a lace white dress on with brown boots. She doesn't look like the fierce Original vampire that he knows; here she looks like a demure little girl whose only crime is to look so beautiful in such simple clothing.

Except in her eyes. They are her only feature that actually show how old she is, how hurt and tired she is. They are dark and honed on him, mistrustful.

So why the hell is she here?

"I thought this was a free country," she says when he asks as much.

"There are more free countries. Go to one of them," he suggests drily.

"I was here first, Salvatore."

"This is the country that my ancestors lived in, Mikealson."

She rolls her eyes. "Seriously? This is what we're doing?"

"Look," he snaps, losing his patience. Truth is looking at her is very hard, reminding him of everything that happened in Mystic Falls. She also reminds him of the pain that she put him through when she tortured him. Not that he hasn't been through that sort of hell before – he's just never had to see his torturer again (they're usually dead). "I really don't want to start this all again." He waves a hand in the air. "I just want to forget about it all."

He thinks she'll lunge for him then so he tenses, ready. But instead she keeps her eyes on him for a moment before letting her shoulders fall. "So do I," she admits. "Maybe we can forget about it together?"

He couldn't be more surprised if she'd kissed him. "You want to come with me?"

She won't show much vulnerability, not yet. Instead she tosses her head like an impatient stallion. "It's not like I have anything better to do."

"But why?"

Rebekah can't stop her face from softening then. "I'm lonely," she confides as though it's a secret. "And you're lonely too. I thought that maybe we could be lonely together."

Part of him wants to tell her to go to hell. She tortured him! She has no right to ask to tag along. Those reasons list in his head, and he's just about to write her off when a voice – that annoying, soft, _caring _little voice in his head, the one he wishes he could shut off – puts in the list of pros. Like having someone to confide in. Having someone _know_ what he is. Having a familiar face in the places he's planning to visit.

_And she's not _so _bad_, that voice whispers. _She'll be up for anything. _

But he doesn't tell her that. No, his pride is too strong for that. Instead he tilts his head up to the sky and squints as if he's staring at the stars, and after a few moments he looks back to her. "Would it matter if I said no?"

She smiles at his words, and it takes his off-guard. In all the time he's known her he hasn't seen her smile like that. It's pure, one that isn't reined in by fear or self-consciousness; one that reaches those dark eyes of hers; one that makes her stand a little taller and her shoulders relax a little. He notes all these things down in his head and tucks them away for a rainy day – and a good thing he does too because after a mere nanosecond she's returns to her cautious careful self. "No, it wouldn't," she agrees.

They face each other. In those seconds the two of them size each other up, silently agreeing to be friends.

That is, as close to friends as they could be.

He turns round and begins to walk down the ally-way. "Are you coming?" he calls. A flash later and she appears by his side.

All through his visit to Rome, that's where she stays.

**xXx**

It's in Vienna that he notices her eyes.

He likes it here. It's different from Rome, but it still has that old, historical feeling to it. It was Rebekah's idea to come here, but he decides he likes it. It doesn't matter anyway; everywhere has a bar.

He does the same thing as he did in Rome: drinking with women, having sex with them and draining their blood. It makes him feel spontaneous, and he finds himself looking forward to the night ahead.

Of course, Rebekah being Rebekah, puts a stop to that.

"I did not come here to watch you drink yourself into oblivion," she says, hands on hips.

He raises his head from the bed, his eyes hazed with drunken sleep. "Why did you come here then?"

She smiles, and he gives in.

They go to see the Lipizzaner Stallions. They sit in the first few rows, Rebekah to Damon's left. He's prepared to be bored and complaining loudly. Rebekah ignores him, giving him a nudge when he begins to annoy her. The lights dim and he thinks he might have a nap.

The horses come on then.

He won't admit it in a million years, but he's dazzled by them. The horses (are they a special breed?) seem to be mythical, as if they're unicorns without the horns. They move, they glide, practically dance on the air. He finds himself on the edge of his seat, watching them. He's always liked horses ever since he was a little boy, and he half wonders if he could buy one of them.

It's only near the end that he catches the look on Rebekah's face. She too is leaning forward, her face hovering over the balcony. Her face is in the light and her eyes shine out at him like beams. They're dark brown, the colour of warm maple. He watches as they follow the horses, a soft smile on her face.

"I can do that, you know," she says without taking her eyes off them. If he didn't have his vampire hearing he might not have heard her.

He can't think of a witty reply.

Those maple brown eyes land on him. "Dance," she says simply.

He lifts a corner of his mouth. "So can I."

She smiles again but this time it's sad. "Not as good as I can," she vows.

He doesn't like the sadness in her. It scares him a little. Damon, he runs from emotion as if it's going to set him alight. Seeing her like this makes him worry that she'll admit something about herself, something deep and personal, and he decides he's not quite ready to there yet.

So he says, "Is that a challenge?"

She gives a little laugh. "Maybe. We'll see."

**xXx**

It's on the ferry from the UK to Amsterdam that he first hears her laugh.

It's cold but dry, thank God. The sun is beginning to set. Most of the people have gone in but a few are milling about on deck. Someone is fiddling with the radio and music comes on. It's not what the teenager wants, but instrumental music – string music, fast and jolly.

It sparks something in Rebekah. She laughs, throwing her head back. "C'mon," she calls to Damon, already running towards the front of the ship. He can't help but chase after her. She grabs at the railing and hurls herself forward, just like the scene in _Titanic. _Still laughing, she holds her hands horizontal. Her hair blows in the wind.

He doesn't join her. Not immediately. Instead he watches the back of her. He hasn't seen her like this before: so free. There's something else there too, something new, but it skirts away from his mind and he can't quite grasp it.

She turns her head. "Come on Damon," she says and holds her hand out to him. It's the first time she's been so inviting, so open. Sure, they sleep in the same bed sometimes (they always get the best rooms and Damon isn't sleeping in some second-rate room just so they can have separate beds. As he reminds Rebekah, it's not like he hasn't seen her body before) but they always keep away from each other, leaving space between the two of them.

He takes her hand and she pulls him up. He clings onto the railing, his arms around her. Her body is pressed up against him, and he's only slightly taller than her. His nose is in her hair and – before he can reason with himself – he breathes in.

She stiffens a little in surprise. At first he thinks she'll shove him to the side, or say nothing at all, but she doesn't. Instead she does something he doesn't expect – but why doesn't he expect it? This is Rebekah after all. She's been yearning for affectionate for centuries now, and here he is – not exactly shoving it away either.

So she kisses him.

Their fingers are intertwined, her head leaning back, pouring herself into his mouth. He holds onto her, tighter than he means to. Maybe he misses companionship. He hasn't been having that much sex lately. Rebekah stays in the same room, usually the same bed, and he can't bring girls over (well he could and maybe Rebekah would join in, but that's probably just wishful thinking) and he hates staying at their places.

Some people would say the reason for the kiss doesn't matter. It's the fact that they kiss at all.

**xXx**

It's in Hawaii that she opens up a little bit. Well, when she opens up and he doesn't run from it.

Things have been a little strange since the ferry. When Damon says strange he doesn't mean the fact that they kissed: it's the fact that they kissed and then didn't have sex. What does that mean? Why kiss if it's not leading to sex? What the hell is the point?

He never had sex with Elena either; he just kissed her. But there were feelings involved. There aren't any feelings here.

At least there isn't meant to be.

Hawaii was Damon's pick. They've been going to a lot of cold places lately and he wants a bit of warmth, even if the temperature doesn't affect them. The sun always makes people happier, more cheerful. And he's always liked Hawaii. It's an island, cut off from the rest of the world, and there's something comforting about that. It's as if the whole could collapse, start a war, and the island wouldn't be touched. If they didn't have technology they wouldn't know that other people even existed.

It's been a long day and the two of them are on the beach. The day is ending. They've spent the day simply relaxing on the beach. At one point they waded in the water and began jumping with the waves. Damon's always loved the sea. Why go in a pool when you can be in the ocean? They let the water lift them up and down. It's stupid childish fun and neither of them can stop laughing.

He can't stop admiring her in the bikini either: fire red with white flowers. Not exactly original but it suits her.

Now they're lying on the beach. For a while it's silent, and it's comfortable. They've spent a lot of time together and have become used to quiet. Why do they need to talk all the time? But they do begin to talk.

He doesn't remember how they get onto the topic, but he suddenly ends up asking her what she would have if she could have anything in the world.

She doesn't hesitate in answering. "Children."

She doesn't tell him of her dreams: a little girl and boy, both with white blonde hair that would soon turn into her own colour, sweet round innocent faces and bright blue eyes: Josef for the boy, Eliza for the girl. She imagines picking them up when they fall and soothing them, looking at her with ultimate trust, listening to them tell stories and their sweet, young laughter. She knows it's stupid to dream like this, because in the end it hurts her, but she can't help it. She likes to imagine her own family, one that doesn't stab you in the chest and lock you in a coffin for years for one little mistake. She likes to think that she would be a mother that wouldn't want to kill her children.

Damon sees the sadness in her eyes. The worst part is that she doesn't even attempt to hide it. Really, they're past that now.

"What about you?" she asks. They are still lying on the sand, flat-out. Even though Damon's a little taller than her they are face to face. Their noses are almost touching, and the breath from the air that they don't need steams over their skin.

He thinks it over for a few moments. There's a long list in his head of things he would like: some stupid things, others more honest.

"A second chance," he answers, covering them all.

Rebekah doesn't say anything else. She gets it. If anyone gets it, it's her.

"What was it like," he asks after a while, "growing up in your family?"

Those eyes look to his. "What was it like growing up in yours?"

"No," he says.

"No," she agrees. They're not ready to go there yet. They may have been bonding a little, becoming more open with each other – but family is a touchy subject. Family is the reason they are here now. And if they had a decent family, wouldn't they be with them? Wouldn't they have phoned the members of their family, to let them know where they were or if they were safe?

He sits up. "This is getting too broody for me," he says, stretching. Rebekah looks away from him, to the sand, to the other people not too far away – anywhere else. But then he turns his head to her, his blue eyes sparkling like the ocean itself. "Race you."

Rebekah can't resist a challenge. She's an Original, after all. She sits up too, her long hair sweeping off her shoulders. "Where?"

He nods to the buoy further out in the ocean. "There," he says. "The first one there wins."

Her eyes glitter. "What's my prize?"

"If you win-"

"_When _I win."

"_If _you win, you get to decide what we do tonight."

"And if you win?"

"I get to." His face is masked; Rebekah can't tell what he's thinking. She wonders what he would do if she agrees. Probably just some stupid night of drinking and women. Maybe he would have something better in mind...

She stands, ready. "On the count of three."

He nods with a smile, lifted at one corner. Rebekah hastily draws a line in the stand with her foot and she and Damon stand just behind it. They both position themselves for the run and she begins to count. "One-"

Damon suddenly flies away, dashing towards the ocean. He can't use his full speed of course, but he's still fairly fast. Rebekah is instantly behind him, calling out, "Cheat! No fair!"

"No rules!" he calls back as he hits the water. But Rebekah is a second behind him and soon they're both wading towards the buoy. If they swam they would probably reach it faster, but swimming feels too slow. Damon is ahead of her but Rebekah leaps on him, pushing him underneath the salt water. She struggles towards the buoy, but the two of them are fighting each other. Damon pulls on Rebekah's leg, she grabs his arm – it's hilarious and the two of them can't stop laughing.

It's hard to tell when they stop racing and just start splashing each other. When they finally pause to catch their breath (neither of them will be the first to surrender) they are holding onto each other. His hand is on her tanned arm and her hands are flat against his chest. The two of them are soaked but are grinning. It takes them a moment to realise that they are touching each other.

They stay that way for longer than a moment.

**xXx**

Paris – the city of lights. It's hard to really describe what happens between them here – not that what happens isn't significant, but there's simply too much to put it into one sentence. Let's just say that every June Rebekah and Damon visit Paris without fail.

It starts when Rebekah sees a sign for auditions for a lead dancer. It's something dark and contemporary. Damon's never heard of the name but she squeals over it, practically bouncing up and down. She goes for it.

Damon thinks nothing of it. That is until Rebekah comes raging in, complaining loudly about the director and certain she's blown it. She's in a foul mood all day and well into the night. It annoys more than he would have thought – so much so that he takes her out to brunch in the morning. She sulks over the coffee but perks up when the crepes come, finally cheering when Damon buys her a hot chocolate – _with _marshmallows.

"Okay," she finally admits. "This isn't so bad."

"Who wants to be in some stupid dance anyway?" he says, sipping the champagne.

Apparently she does. They call her to inform that she has the lead. She screams, jumping and dancing round the hotel room. Damon stares at her, coming to the conclusion that she is more confusing than other women. He buries his head under the pillow, trying to ignore her.

She is busy for a lot of the day and he goes out during the night (she doesn't come with him, claiming she needs her beauty sleep – as if vampires get tired) so they don't see each other that much. It's only during her break in the afternoon that they meet up. They have an early supper together of lobster and French fries (which Rebekah cannot stop eating – thank God she can remain eternally beautiful). She has a little more time so she basks in sun. Damon hasn't spoken in a while. She opens her eyes and to her surprise finds him engrossed in a drawing. He's bent over a sketchpad, his hand moving over the paper. She sees his eyes going up and down, narrowed in concentration.

"What are you doing?" she asks, scooting closer.

"Drawing," he answers. He quickly closes it, but Rebekah isn't one to respect another person's privacy. In an instant she snatches it away from him and flips it open.

"Give it back-" Damon reaches for it but Rebekah shoves him away.

"I wouldn't," she says. "We both know I'm stronger than you are Damon; let's not have all these people laugh at you for getting beaten up by a girl."

Her eyes land on the first page. There are hundreds of sketches: mostly of women, some hookers that she's seen him with, others of children or animals in the street, a few men at the bar. There are hands too, dozens of pairs. "Why hands?"

He shrugs a little irritated. "I don't know. They fascinate me, I guess."

She admires another one of a girl. "You liked this girl." It's not a question.

"She liked to pose – and she was okay to talk to." He tries to reach for the pad again. "Are you done?" he asks.

"Will you draw me?" she asks. She snaps it closed and holds it away from him.

"Are you serious?"

"Why not?" she asks. "Someone once had a portrait of me done. It was destroyed though." She pretends not to be bothered by this. "I looked much better than Mona Lisa. She was bloody ugly."

"I don't want to draw you-"

"Then paint me."

"Maybe I'm not good with paints," he says, but there's a cocky touch in his voice and she knows that's not true.

"I want my portrait done," she says. Her face is adamant.

Damon sighs loudly. "_Fine_," he snaps.

"Fantastic," she says, beaming. She hands him the sketchpad and stands, already off to the rehearsal. "We'll arrange it tonight."

He watches as she walks down the street. She sways on her heels, graceful and it's not hard to believe that she's the lead in a dance. He runs a hand through his hair. Damn Rebekah. She's insane and she's beginning to drag him with her.

A small idea enters his head – a Damon idea, of course. Maybe this could be fun after all.

**xXx **

"So you want me here?" She nods to the red sofa, patterned with gold. She likes that Damon chose this sofa; it'll suit her colouring so nicely.

"Yes," he answers. He fixes the stand, already picturing her there. Not that it matters. As soon as he suggests this, she will back out and it'll be pointless.

She stands back, an eyebrow raised. "Are you ready yet?"

"Almost," he says. "Just waiting for you."

She spreads her arms. "I'll lie down then," she says.

"Naked."

This is when he expects her to back out; to scream and tell him he's a pervert. But instead she simply drops the nightgown, revealing her body without shame.

He stares.

"You're not the first artist that has demanded me naked," she says with a smile on her face. She adores that she's managed to catch him by surprise. She stretches out on the sofa. "This okay?"

He gives in. He can't get rid of her – if he could he would have done ages ago. Instead he walks towards her. "Arms up," he commands. Her makes her arms arch over her head, and then takes a bit of her hair and places it on her chest, not quite touching her breast. He's in artist mode now, now only seeing her in his masterpiece.

"You'll have to stay still for a while," he informs her. He gets his paints ready and sits back. Where the hell to begin?

"Fine by me." It is a little dull, but she falls asleep after a while. She may be a vampire, but rehearsing all day is still exhausting, even if it is just mentally. She dreams of her home – her first home – and of the places she and her brothers used to go. Finn, he was a dreamer and a loner, stalking off by himself, but the rest of the siblings stuck together. She, Klaus, Elijah, Kol, and Henrik would spend time together by the lake, mucking about and playing stupid, childish games. Rebekah and Henrik, being the youngest, were always close. She sees him in her dreams, laughing and calling for her. "Come along Bekah!" he calls. She chases him, becoming distressed when she can't see him.

"Bekah." He's whispering in the darkness now – she can't see him but she can hear him. "Bekah." She opens her eyes to find that it isn't Henrik at all but Damon hovering about her face.

She starts at the sunlight beaming from the windows. "What time is it?"

"Just after seven." His eyes are scanning her face. It unnerves her and she sits up, wishing that she wasn't naked. "You were crying."

_Damn. _She wipes her cheeks, the wetness confirming what Damon said to be true. She stands and throws on her nightgown hastily, avoiding the dark vampire's eyes. The tension in the air is thick – maybe only to her but it's choking, and so she nods to the stand. "Did you finish it?"

"Yeah, but it's crap," Damon mutters. Her question has thrown him off her scent thank God, she can tell by the way his eyes cloud over in annoyance, even if there are still on her. "I'll do it again."

"No," she says. She keeps her eyes off him, unable to look at his face. "Forget it. I don't care." She didn't know that she was able to cry in her sleep. It's clear that her heart has so much sadness in it tears come out all the time. But she can't think of that right now. She turns the heat of the shower and steps in, allowing her skin to burn. The show must go on.

**xXx**

On the opening night Damon finds himself sitting in the front row. He loves to dance, but he dislikes watching performances. They're often dull and dry, and musicals have too many songs in it. Dances and ballets don't have enough talking in it. He had a nice evening planned with a few horny girls, but when he was preparing to go out – damn – Rebekah came in. When she found out he wasn't coming she practically skinned half his body. Only half, because Damon caved and said he would go. It was almost worth it to see her smile; as surprising as an egg with two yokes in it.

The lights dim and Damon anticipates a boring night ahead.

He's wrong.

Yes, the first five minutes are possibly the dullest he's ever had. He even considers sneaking out and returning when the show ends.

But then Rebekah comes on stage.

Instantly she has everyone's attention. It's not the fact that she is wearing a stunning black and red dress, which shows off her curves. It's, quite simply, her. She looks out onto the crowd arrogantly as if she cannot believe that they've interrupted her. She stands in the centre of the stage, with the dancers round her watching too. Damon gets the sense that they too, are impressed with Rebekah.

Music swells round the room. It's low and soft, whispering into the audience's ears. Rebekah seems to flow with it, moving gracefully. Her hands hold position above her stiffly, her toes pointed. She twirls, the dress scattering from underneath her. Suddenly the music picks up. The startled audience watch as the dress actually _does _scatter beneath her. For a moment Damon thinks that she will appear naked from underneath it, but that's not the case: the bodice is still firmly attached to her.

He finds that he has never been more aroused by anything in his entire life.

Rebekah dances, she twirls, the glides through the air. He has never seen anyone dance so mesmerizingly than she does. She's right, she can dance better than he can.

But as the dancers take their final bows, her eyes sparkling like rich wine, Damon thinks that perhaps he can give her a run for her money.

There's a party afterwards, which Rebekah invites Damon to. When he enters the large room he notes how she is surrounded by admirers. Other girls in the dance are swooning over her performance and guys are batting pretty eyes at her while sneaking glances at her breasts. He feels a primal twinge in his stomach, something that he can't quite identify. When she sees Damon though she runs, flings her arms round him. He's surprised but pleased at her reaction.

When she pulls away her cheeks are flushed. "Well?"

He won't let her know he was impressed. He is Damon Salvatore after all. "It was alright."

It doesn't bug her though; instead she laughs. "You liked it."

"I liked the part where your dress came off," he says. His eyes skim down her waist. "I was hoping more would fall off." As he reaches for a drink, he says, "I can dance better though."

Rebekah is distracted, but when he says that she turns. One plucked eyebrow is raised as she mocks: "You weren't the one chosen to perform the lead."

"I didn't audition."

He's flirting with her. He can't seem to help it. What's more, she picks up on it. He feels momentary embarrassment, thinking that she may rebuff him. But instead she smiles, showing off her teeth. No pointed fangs though. "Well then," she says, "let's see you prove it." She holds out a hand.

They dance. He spins Rebekah round, letting her go. He expects her to fall, but she doesn't. She twirls before standing back in front of him, her eyes aimed straight towards him. And Damon can't help but think, _She knows what she wants._

She steps forward, he steps forward, the both of them do. They are pressed against each other, pale blue eyes staring right into her warm brown ones.

They meet again, later that night, in the bed. She runs a hand down his impressive chest, her eyes lowering to gaze at it. He looks down at her, but not pityingly as many men have. Instead there is a hint of wonder in his eyes, admiration – something she did not see the last time they slept together. He tucks a hand under her chin and lifts it. Their lips meet. It's a gentle kiss, pressed together like the lid of an envelope. Desire runs down his spine and he pulls her deeper. After a few hesitating seconds, she responds. He wraps an arm round her waist and lifts her, pushing her down on the pillows.

As his hand touches her inner thigh, she murmurs – almost breathlessly – "I'm still a better dancer then you."

Damon doesn't talk, but he responds in his own way.

**xXx**

It's in Australia that she loosens up more.

Through Berlin, Kenya, Rhodes and Cairo (where Damon almost hits _another _guy because he's admiring Rebekah in a way that he doesn't like – which makes Rebekah smile behind her hand) she seems reluctant to let her guard down. He doesn't blame her. Even though she tortured him, it's not as if he was exactly nice to her. She may have hurt his body, but he hurt her heart.

Australia seems to be much of the same – that is until they take a drive. They haven't gone to one of the cities, but the outback. Rebekah doesn't understand it since Damon is fond of girls – but she's not about to complain. He hires a car and drives until they find a large lake of water. It's not really a lake since there's a stream running through it, but it's surrounded by large rocks which makes them feel like they own it themselves.

Damon dips his toes in the water. "It's so cool," he says.

"Is it?" Gently Rebekah's arms move round his waist. To his surprise she is the one to lift his shirt up. He doesn't know why it's so arousing. Her fingers massage the skin, and maybe it's something to do with the fact that he can't see her. Usually he's been the one to initiate sex. She seems torn between the desire to have him and reluctant every time he begins to pull her clothes off.

They end up making love in the lake. He lifts her up while her neck dips down, kissing him. It's the first time she ventures her tongue in his mouth. The water is so warm that he feels he could live here forever, in the warmth and with her.

The sky darkens from bright blue to a warm pink as they lie on the red sand. They are still naked, their bodies still warm from the heat of the day. She is staring at the sky, counting the stars as they rise from their beds. Damon is watching her. His nose touches her ear, and softly:

"Tell me."

She doesn't speak for a long time. Then, her voice wavering, she says, "His name was Henrik."

She begins. She tells him the story of becoming a vampire which Damon has only heard from Elena. She tells him how strange it was becoming a vampire, something that Damon can relate to. She explains the pain of losing her mother, something else Damon can understand. As she tells him of the years she walked with her brothers, the years where her heart broke again and again, he realises that they're not much different from each other. Hasn't he always got his heart broken? Has he felt that he is always second best?

When she talks about her little brother he sees tears blooming from the corner of her eyes. "He was the best," she whispers, a secret just for him. "I think if he had lived, even if he had become a vampire, he wouldn't have turned out like the rest of us. I think he would have been more like Elijah, but more fun. Caring but able to enjoy himself.

"Sometimes I wonder what would have happened – if it had been Klaus and not Henrik that had been killed. And then I feel awful for thinking that."

"But Klaus is _horrible _to you." She hasn't told him the details of how she found out Klaus wasn't dead, but it clearly didn't go well; after all, she's here with him isn't she?

"And Stefan outshines you every time." Her eyes aren't pitying when she turns, but understanding. "We still love them though. They're family."

She looks so sad that he has to kiss her. It takes a few moments, but he feels her relax. Eyes half closed she says, "I wish I could live my eternity like this."

**xXx**

It's in Barcelona that he sees her heart break.

They're in the hotel room. It's morning and they've been dozing in bed. Rebekah keeps attempting to climb out but Damon tugs her back in. Finally after she whines about wanting to see the sights he relents, allowing her out. When she's in the bathroom his phone vibrates. He glances at the bedside table; he hasn't heard the ringtone for ages. The name ELENA shows up.

He answers without thinking.

"Damon?" Oh how long it's been since he's heard that voice. He sharply breathes in. He doesn't say anything, listening as she calls his name. When he hears a noise from the bathroom he hangs up.

When he turns he can tell Rebekah's heard him. Her face is frozen in a mask, her eyes watching him. The tension in the room is thick with unanswered hopes and remembered betrayals. It seems forever before she speaks. Her face breaks into a smile, but for some reason it makes Damon want to cry.

"Shall we go then?" she asks.

He hesitates for the briefest of seconds. "Sure."

She's quiet throughout the day. Damon tries to distract her, but she either smiles briefly or turns away, annoyed. Half the time he's frustrated while the other half of the time he can't find it in his heart to blame her. He has betrayed her once already; why should she trust him?

They have a large bowl of paella to share in the evening. They're eating quietly which is unusual for them; usually insults fly back and forth between them, but only teasing ones. They don't say the things that would hurt them.

It's said quietly, but his vampire hearing detects it over the noise. "I love you."

He looks up at her disbelievingly. She is staring at him. Her eyes are wide and she nervously watches him. He thinks he might have misheard her, but the look on her face tells him that she's serious. His throat feels as if it's going to close up. He opens his mouth to tell her he loves her back, but his voice fails him.

Rebekah stares at him. He watches as realization begins to dawn. "You still love her don't you?"

He doesn't answer. How can he? He didn't leave because he was over her; he left because he couldn't bear to be in town where she and Stefan lived their fairytale. Rebekah knows this.

"I should have known." Her eyes sparkling she stands up, grabbing her jacket.

"Rebekah-"

"I was so stupid," she fumed. "I was mad to think that you could actually feel something for me, mad to think that she was nothing to you!"

"Bekah, I like you. I do."

She stands by the table, her eyes on him. "But you don't love me." She says it without bitterness but tinged with sadness.

He can't stand it. Her eyes, they're breaking him. "I don't want this," he says. Despite himself his tone his biting. "We're just having fun. I didn't want anything serious."

It's not a complete lie; but then, it's not the truth either.

She's openly crying now. Tears slip down her cheeks as if she's being hit by rain. She closes her eyes. "I should have known," she repeats. When she opens them an arrow goes through his heart. "Klaus was right. I'm nothing."

That hurts more than anything else.

In a blink, she's gone. By the time Damon gets back to the hotel room, she's gone. The clothes that she's bought on their jaunts have disappeared, as well as her precious jewellery. The hotel room isn't that big, but without Rebekah's presence it feels enormous. The glamour has gone from the room.

He gently sits down on the bed. "Alone again," he says to himself.

He crawls under the covers and sleeps. And sleeps.

**xXx**

He doesn't leave Barcelona. Every time he tries to bring himself to pack his bags and head off somewhere, he finds himself lingering. Maybe it's nothing. Or maybe it's the fact that he can still smell her scent in the hotel room. Maybe it's because he can barely bring himself to get out of bed.

He goes out a few times. But every girl seems bland and colourless. Even their blood doesn't taste that good, not without Rebekah biting the other arm. He begins to take the blood bags out of necessity, not pleasure.

He hears news of her. It's in the papers, if you know where to look. She's been to China, Russia, Iceland. She doesn't seem to be able to go far either. They could have crossed an entire continent in this time.

He throws the newspaper down and goes back to sleep.

One morning he wakes up early. He dresses and decides to go for a walk. He travels through the city, watching as the people wake up or – in some cases – go to bed. He can't remember how long he walks until he ends up in a church. It's one of Gaudi's creations and Damon, in his stupor, can't help but notice how stunning it is. It's so dream-like and beautiful.

Just like Rebekah.

It's in Barcelona he realises that maybe he does care.

**xXx**

Finally. She's made it to London. Rebekah drops her bags in the hotel room and takes a drink from a freshly compelled cleaner. Feeling better she lands on the bed, enjoying the softness of it. She tries not to think about the way Damon would love this bed. He would say it's just the right size, pulling her towards him for sex.

She groans, throwing the pillow over her head. "Damn," she mutters. For some reason she can't stop thinking about Damon. When she was in China she thought of what Damon would say about the food; when she was in Iceland she knew Damon would complain about the cold; she barely stayed in Russia a night before a stranger who had dark hair and blue eyes made her turn straight back to the airport.

_London will be different_, she promises herself. Rebekah's always had a soft spot for England. When she lived here in the sixteenth century Henry VIII adored her: she was given titles and showered with presents. A part of her was in love with him too, but not emotionally; she was more in love with the way everyone flocked to her, how good they looked as a couple. When Klaus informed his sister that they had to move on she compelled him to fall in love with a lady in waiting, Anne Boleyn. It worked a little too well. Whoops.

She decides to wander through the city. She dresses in a red skirt and a white blouse with a black jacket. Heads turn as she walks down the streets. She sees the London Eye, Big Ben, Buckingham Palace – all the tourist areas. Her interest begins to wane though. Without Damon complaining it doesn't seem as much fun.

There's an exhibition in the museum though, and she decides to take a look. Most of the artwork is boring, all subjective and splotches that are meant to represent faith or love blah blah blah. She's losing interest fast. It's a little weird too: maybe she's wrong, but people keep on looking at her, whispering. She knows she looks pretty, but even so...

She walks into the larger room and she understands why she's getting looks.

It's the painting of her.

She's naked. She knew that she was naked of course, in fact she didn't care, but that was before she knew that it was going to be put _up_. What's more, Damon said it was no good! _That damn liar, _she seethes.

Yet she likes it. It hurts to admit it, but she does. He's used such a stunning colour for her hair: it looks like gold and yet shimmers off the paper like silver. Her eyes are such strong brown colour they stand out. Her gaze is so knowing that she is reminded of a lioness: strong and proud, brave and uncaring. People are gazing at it, talking about it while glancing back at her.

She steps closer. She wants to see the name of the painter. She knows it's Damon but for some unexplained reason she wants to see it.

The artist is anonymous. That isn't what catches her breath and causes her to still. It's the name of the piece.

"I Love You."

By the time she finds him, she's out of breath. With a little compulsion she finds out that he's staying, and she races to the flat. He opens it on the first knock.

The two of them stand, staring at each other. His expression is blank with a hint of nervousness; she is too breathless to wonder about hers.

"Say it," she says.

He's silent.

She steps forward. "I need you to say it. I can't deal with lies or fake promises Damon. If you love me, I need you to say it. And I need you to mean it. If you don't love me than have the balls-"

He kisses her. Like in all romantic films he doesn't wait for her to finish speaking, he simply kisses her. Rebekah would scorn at this - as if that solved all their problems. But right now she has no complaints. For weeks she has dreamed of his kiss, thought of his hand crossed over her breasts, thinking of his warm arm across her waist.

He pulls away, but the two of them are still opposite each other. Their noses brush against one another's.

"It's raining," she says. It's funny, but she's only just noticed.

He laughs. He shakes his head. "It's raining and I love you," he says. "This world is just full of surprises."

_I love you_. Rebekah can't believe how long she has waited to hear those words. Her legs seem to feel weak, and she is grateful that Damon is holding onto her. "Are you sure?" she asks. "I don't want you to say it just because I did. I want you to mean it."

"Rebekah, I do mean it." He lifts her face up to his. "I've loved Katherine and Elena and got lost in them. But you cut through the fog like sunlight. I've been starved of sunlight for so long." He shifts on his feet. "The truth is I don't think I could recognise it."

He gives her a look. "Rebekah, your beautiful."

She laughs while tears and running down her face. All these years, who knew you could laugh and cry at the same time?

"You're soaked," he says. He presses another kiss to her. "I think it's time we go in and get you out of those clothes."

"Sex?"

"No," he says. "Let's just talk."

She stares at him in bewilderment. "No sex."

"Not yet," he says. "Let's just talk."

"Jesus, what happened to you?" She shoves past him through the hallway. He watches as she flings her clothes off, littering them on the floor. She calls back, "I'll get warm while you get my things from the hotel room."

Oh yeah, he's in love with her.

**xXx**

It's in Japan that he asks her to marry him.

They've been in great moods ever since London. They're more open with each other. They talk all the time, even sometimes during sex. It's not just that they talk more; their actions are different too. When they walk down the street they hold hands. Rebekah loves it when his arm is round her shoulders and she lifts her hand up, squeezing it every now and again. Sometimes she has to pinch herself when she looks up and sees him, this dark haired gorgeous man on her arm.

Damon picks out the ring. He leaves Rebekah dozing in the warm sunlight as he searches for the ring. He goes through dozens of shops until he finds the perfect one. As soon as he sees it, he knows it's Rebekah's. The amethyst stone is in the shape of a heart with a cluster of diamonds decorated round it. It's all heart, just like her.*** **

He isn't sure when to propose. At first he thinks Italy, but the timing doesn't feel quite right. Neither does the South of France, or Ireland or Portugal. He carries the ring around in his jacket pocket, and nearly has a heart attack when he forgets his jacket in a restaurant. He is relieved when it is handed in and Rebekah jokes about not knowing how much he loved his leather jacket.

They're in Japan right now. They're walking in the park and as Damon is looking at some statue he realises Rebekah has gone. She has gone under the cherry blossoms. The breeze knocks petals in her way and she laughs, batting them away. She looks like a princess.

He knows that it's the right time.

Pulling out the ring, he asks her to marry them.

Immediately her eyes well up. "Are you sure?" she asks. "It's eternity with me y'know. And if you ever leave me I will send my brothers after you, whether I'm talking to them or not."

"I'm more afraid of you than your brothers," he answers with a smirk. "And yes, I'm sure." He gives her a look. "Rebekah, marry me."

She pauses, and he can tell she's savouring the words. "Yes," she whispers. "_Yes_. Oh God be damned I love you." She grabs the back of his hair and pulls him forward. When she kisses him she pours her heart out into him. He thinks this might be the first time he's actually gotten all of her.

It won't be the last.

**xXx**

They get married in Riva, Italy. Rebekah wears a white dress which Damon jokes is ironic (pause while she slaps him), simple but stunning. She wears a crown of cherry blossoms in her hair. Damon isn't wearing a suit, but a nice black top and trousers. They don't get married in a church but out by Lake Garda. A priest ordains them with the whole town as witness. When he pronounces them husband and wife they clap and cheer. Damon looks a little embarrassed but for once Rebekah doesn't feel it. She kisses him boldly.

They hire a boat and sail out. Drinking blood and celebrating with a bottle of wine they watch the sun go down and then make love. Not have sex – make love. There's a difference.

In the middle of the night Damon wakes up and finds Rebekah absent. He panics, thinking that she has cold feet or second thoughts, expecting to see the ring left on a table. Thankfully he hears her outside.

"Hey," he says. She's sitting in the exact same place as they were earlier, except this time she's got a book on her lap. "What you got there?"

"Just something I made," she says, shutting it.

He gives her a look. "Rebekah, we're husband and wife now. We're not meant to have secrets."

"That's what you think." She's only teasing though and she makes room for him. He puts the blanket over the both of them and Rebekah opens it.

It's them. It's a scrapbook of them. Pictures of all the places they've been, a poster of the dance show she was in, postcards and notes. Damon flips through it, taking time to look over the pictures. He grins at the photo of Rebekah's finger with the ring on it, and right at the end is their wedding photo.

"I can't believe it," she says, staring at the photo. "I never thought I would be married. To you, no less."

"I know. But it just shows that you never know what's going to happen."

"Are you sure?" She keeps on asking. Damon can tell she's expecting the other shoe to drop. Just like he was scared that she had bolted, she's worried that he'll back out.

"_Yes_," he says seriously. And he'll keep saying yes, for as long as she keeps asking.

"Damon?"

"Yes?"

"Can we get a dog?"

Then again, some things he might have to break that rule for.

**xXx**

"Damon."

The voice comes to him from years ago, yet he'll always know it. Like it or not, he'll always be in his heart. He turns to see his little brother. Stefan is dressed in a suit, looking smart. His expression is wary though. He's right to be nervous. It's been years since they've last spoke.

It's funny though, but looking at his brother, Damon suddenly isn't mad. It occurs him to that maybe he just got made at Stefan because he wasn't happy with his own life.

"Stefan," he answers. They don't hug, because let's face it – that _would _be weird.

"Damon." Elena is there, of course. She's dressed in virginal white with her hair tied back. Her doe eyes are wide and nervous. She looks stunning and one out of two guys keep eyeing her up, but it strikes Damon at how ugly she is. Her legs are knobbly and she's practically a skeleton. "How are you?"

He gives her a small smile. It wasn't bitter though. "I'm fine. How are you two?"

They glance at each other, like a pair of sheep. Damon has to bite his cheeks to stop himself from laughing. Slowly Elena reaches for Stefan's hand. "Actually Damon, we're getting married." She looks absolutely terrified.

He finds that this doesn't surprise him. He isn't upset by this though. Not even a little bit. It doesn't matter really. He had assumed that they would have married earlier. "Congrats," he says. The smile isn't fake at all. "I'm happy for you both."

They still look worried. "Damon," begins Elena, but she gets cut off.

"Sorry I'm late!" a voice calls out from behind them. "Blair would _not _stop going on about the flowers! I swear this wedding will be the death of me." Damon grins as he turns and Rebekah appears. She looks stunning in her red wine coloured dress and hair flowing from behind her back. They kiss and Damon forgets the rest of the world.

When they return to reality Stefan and Elena are staring at them, absolutely gobsmacked.

"Stefan, Elena," Rebekah says. She acts surprised but Damon can tell his wife knew Stefan and Elena were here. "What are you two doing here?"

"Erm, shopping." Elena shoots Stefan a glance. "What are you doing in New York?"

"We live here," Damon answers.

"Few years now," Rebekah says. She smiles at the both of them, though out the corner of her eye she gives Damon a questioning look. He nods – he's okay.

"You two are together?" Stefan asks.

The couple grin at each before Damon lets Rebekah answer. "Actually," she says with a hint – okay, a lot – of smugness. "We're married." She holds up her left hand, showing off her gorgeous engagement ring and gold wedding band. "Nearly fifteen years."

The looks on Elena and Stefan's faces are hilarious. Both Damon and Rebekah have to fight the urge to laugh. She squeezes his arm. This is so much easier than when they announced to her brothers that they were married. They were all furious of course. Elijah got over it fairly quickly once he realised how happy Rebekah was, and noted how expensive the ring was. Kol wasn't happy until he and Damon went out drinking. Her husband couldn't get up the next day and Kol grudgingly admitted that Damon was "tolerable". Klaus of course wasn't happy, and to some extent still isn't. But Elijah and she thinks Kol too stuck up for her, and Klaus didn't bother with them. Rebekah loves her big brother, but she thinks that maybe they need a bit of time apart. They have forever, after all.

"Well, we'd better go," Damon says. "We have dinner reservations." He holds out his hand. "Coming Mrs Mikealson – Salvatore?"

"Of course Mr Salvatore." Departing with one last grin, husband and wife leave for their table. Damon notes with glee that every man is gazing at his wife in awe. She looks stunning, and she's picked him.

"Anything?" Rebekah whispers. Her eyes peer up at Damon, silently asking if he's still in love with Elena.

"Yes." He cups her face. "I think I fall in love with you more and more each day."

She smiles. "Forever?"

"Forever," he agrees, and Mr Salvatore and Mrs Mikealson – Salvatore go to their table.

**XXx**

*** - Just in case anyone wants to see the ring: **

** . /webstore/d/6852408/silver%2c+diamond+and+amethyst+heart+ring/ **


End file.
